On The Road With Denny D

My first haircut I remember my first haircut. Okay kind of. I remember the barbershop and the barber. I must have been five years old. Our neighborhood barber aka bookie whose name I will not mention, was quite a character.  He was my father's barber and now he was going to be mine. I wonder if my dad made the odd wager or was he strictly there for the haircut and conversation. My dad was the most handsome man in the neighborhood.  He had a killer smile and Popeye forearms, and many neighborhood women had a secret crush on him. My mother was the most beautiful woman to have never graced the silver screen. The were truly a beautiful couple. Body, mind and spirit. The men on our block must have been jealous of him. Of course, I'm assuming here but they all had the same hair cut or should I say brush cut. New heights The chair seemed comfortable enough, that is if you were a man. My seat wasn't as comfortable. The barber’s chair was made kid friendly with aboard across the a...

Trailer life Our summer tradition started at Pinery provincial park continued to a new lake.  Just a few miles from Powassan Ontario, was the Canadian shield waterway known as Wasi lake. Wasi Lodge was our new home away from home. By now my mother had enough of us kids and maybe her husband too, the month break was welcomed. It was just my dad, us kids and a couple grand kids. Apparently, my sister needed a break too. Our fourteen-foot Citation was parked on the top of hill overlooking the shoreline.  I wish I could say it was all fishing and fun, but somethings were not fun. Doing laundry, not fun. Fishy, sweaty and soiled clothes filled up the hamper aka green garbage bag. Not fun. There isn't a twist tie strong enough to contain that stink. A load of crap Once a week (usually on a Monday) we'd take turns doing laundry. This is the story of one of those Mondays. It was my turn.  The only good thing about laundry day was that I was relieved of my camp cook duties. I th...

On The Trail The Boiling Point   When you have three boys, a dog and a wife who is about to go insane, a loving husband has the responsibility to ensure some peace and quiet. My father could see the steam vapors from my mothers’ head rise. It could have been the hot July weather, but it wasn't, it was her kids and a barking dog. Our dog Trixie was part chihuahua, part terrier and part bitch. The bitch came out when we tried to sit next to my mom. Trixie was just a little protective, as any wandering chipmunk soon found out. We thought feeding them peanuts wouldn't be too bad. That and the chase was fun to watch.   The cool down   My mother would often escape the camp, climb the dunes and go stick a toe in the frigid waters of Lake Huron. It was a hot sandy walk with very little areas to stop and cool her heals. My mother and dog danced their way down to the beach stopping to catch their breath in the shadows of a dune bush. We just ran for it. Our feet wer...

Follow me, or not I thought I was the leader, being older and more educated on all paths leading back to our family trailer at Pinery provincial park. One day we went for a hike. The route lead through Burley camp to Riverside camp over a few dunes to a path that went by the amphitheater to our destination, the store. The store had the only thing our camp didn't have, candy.  Weathering the storm   On the way the clouds grew dark like our expectations to make it back from the store without getting poured on. It was before cell phones, so we couldn't call dad to rescue us. I was going back to camp. I had a short cut, but my brothers didn't want anything to do with it. My brother’s (not heeding my advice) took another route. I made back to the trailer before them and then the storm approached. The weather and my father. "Where are your brothers" He said. "They wouldn't follow me" I said. Suddenly, the rain started pouring down like the lecture. The...

In The Cards   I grew up surrounded by cards players. My dad played cards, my mom played cards, his mom played cards, her dad played cards. You get it.  The grown up's played euchre while us kids hearing the ruckus, decided on a more civil game. Enter the game known as, spoons. The object of the game, to be the first to get four of a kind and then grab a spoon. Usually played with four players and three spoons. This game is very fast paced, it is for this reason that the old folks never played. Cause of death, heart attack brought on by not cholesterol but a utensil. Playing spoons was like musical chairs but with cutlery. Only the music never stopped, it was replaced with a hand slapping table gouging flurry of activity. This trumped the noise heard from the other table. My mother didn't appreciate us scratching the table up. The adults could slam their fists down on it and yell trump. That was okay. We were banished to a folding card table aka eating area for kids,...

I remember watching the old man in the sea with my dad. The movie was about an old man and a big fish. The old man (played by Spencer Tracy) set out to prove to himself and to everyone else, that even though he was old, he wasn’t weak, he wasn’t washed up and he could still land the big one. All he needed was one day and this was that day.  Hook line and splinters How long the day and how long the fight would last, he had no idea.   The game was tug of war and war it was. The old man skillfully played the fish reeling in the slack but ready with the drag when he could feel the beast burst through the surface of sea.   His calloused hands now bloodied from hours of fighting, were wrapped with shreds of a discarded sweat-stained shirt, meant to be a bandage and did nothing to stop the pain, only to slow the bleeding. How many hours had gone by it didn’t matter.   Neither one surrendered, knowing well that weakness awakens the sharks.   The night came and the fight...